“My ghosts come to me from outer space.” Stella ignored the snickers and eye-rolls of the people on the video chat. She took a deep breath and pushed on with her poem. “They come to me wrapped in glimmering stardust. Icy cold breath that burns the skin. Fathomless inky black eyes. “
“They’ve been found!” the bearded man bellowed, his spittle dotting the screen. “The Wide Horizon crews are safe on the other side of the cosmos!”
“They were never lost!” The freckled-faced girl squeaked.
“She’s just another space Goth,” the bearded man dabbed a tissue on his screen.
“Is that what your story is about?” A kindly woman with curly brown hair asked, “the colonies we thought we’d lost?’
Stella looked down in shame. How could she explain that the colonies were gone when she had never so much as leapt from the top of her stairs? Those affirming messages from the cosmos were a decade old and from souls long dead. The coming messages were more disturbing, more tragic. But she had no ‘air time.’ No one would believe her.
“I’m sorry,” the handsome moderator gave her a pained look, “That’s not what this group is about. There’s something out there for you, but perhaps you should seek help. It’s not good to long for so many to be dead. ”
The display winked out and all of the faces disappeared from the grid except one.
“If they won’t believe me, who will?” She tried pleading her case to the pale, withered face.